


Blueberry Pie

by Netcord2002



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, Episode Tag, Episode: s06e09 Impact Winter, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-26
Updated: 2005-02-26
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netcord2002/pseuds/Netcord2002
Summary: Curtis is no Charlie, but he is now the guy Jed counts on. Curtis' POV





	Blueberry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Blueberry Pie**

**by: Netcord**

**Pairing(s):** Jed/Abbey  
**Category(s):** Drama Post-Ep.   
**Rating:** CHILD   
**Disclaimer:** Most of these characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and now John Wells.  
**Summary:** Curtis is no Charlie, but he is now the guy Jed counts on. Curtis' POV  
**Author's Note:** Post-Ep for "In the Room" and "Impact Winter". Many thanks to Mayhem who became my muse & beta rolled into one. Her words of encourage are the reason this story is not still sitting on the shelf...... "For the love of God" & "Bloody hell" are great motivators. 

"Curtis, this man is brilliant. He has more information in his head than any other ten people I know. Never ask him a question unless you have plenty of time for his answer. Or you should be prepared to read and if you're really lucky the book he assigns you will be in English." 

I have never been so nervous in all my 23 years. Charlie was talking very fast as we walked through the halls of the West Wing. We stopped just long enough so I could shake hands with each member of the staff whose names and faces were all jumbled inside my head. As we waited in the outer office Charlie offered tips......tips on how best to serve the President. 

"Curtis if you hear something like a growl coming from the President and his eyes get all narrow, stand up tall and look him right in the face. Never, never try to duck. Your size will be an advantage, so use it. Most of his temper will not be directed at you. It's just that you are the one in the room. Be brave and act confident. He will respect you for it." 

Finally the moment of truth arrived. Charlie opened the door to the Oval Office and led me in for my first face to face with the President. It was well after the dinner hour and yet the West Wing was still buzzing with activity. The President stood immediately and came around his desk with his hand outstretched. His suit coat was hanging over the back of a chair. He had his sleeves rolled up on his forearms and his tie hung a little loosely around his neck. The President motioned for me to sit in the yellow chair opposite him. He leaned forward towards me with his elbows resting on his knees. This was so surreal I can't describe the feeling I was having. Though Charlie made the point earlier that it was a feeling that would never leave me. "Be brave." Is that what he had told me? The President's eyes were unbelievably blue and intense. He was watching me. I'm sure he could sense my discomfort. Then he brushed his hand up through his hair and smiled at me. He reached over tapping me on the knee and nodded. 

"So Curtis, is it Curtis?" 

"Yes Sir." My collar was rubbing the side of my neck. I unbutton my jacket, running my hand down over my tie. 

"How'd you come to the White House?" 

"I took the subway to the station on the mall near the Smithsonian. I thought the walk from there would do me good." He didn't laugh, but he had a funny look on his face. That's when I realized he meant how did I get this job. "Oh, sorry Sir. I responded to the job notice posted in my advisors office at Washington College." 

The President sat back in his chair clasping his hands up behind his head. "Is that on the Eastern Shore across the Bay?" 

"Yes Sir. In Chestertown. I graduated in May, but spent the summer doing some research with one of my professors." I wasn't sure what to do with my hands so I clasped them in my lap. 

"And you studied?" 

"Psychology Mr. President. Abnormal psychology." 

Now he did laugh. It was a rich deep laugh that filled the room. "That's perfect. When you hear the First Lady yelling that I'm out of my bloody mind, I want you to jump right in, in my defense. You're on my side. Always remember that. It often takes two to win the battles around here." 

"Yes Sir." I hadn't met Mrs. Bartlet yet, but from what Charlie had indicated she was a force of nature not to be taken lightly. 

"You're a big guy. What are you 6' 1"....6'2"? Did you play football?" 

"I'm 6'2" Sir. I never played football. Washington College doesn't have a team. Lacrosse is the number one sport there. I'm not much of an athlete Mr. President. My roommate got me into weightlifting. He said it would help me keep my weight down. I'm not sure it helped. I like pie and ice cream too much." Curtis shrugged and smiled. 

"Well I'll tell you what, your size might come in handy. And you're not the only pie lover in the building. As far as ice cream goes vanilla bean is my personal favorite.....Bryers." 

"Bryers is the best Mr. President." 

"Then that'll be our common weakness, Curtis. Thanks for stopping by. Charlie or Debbie can fill you in on whatever you need to know." He jumped to his feet, shook my hand vigorously and pointed to the door. 

So began my new job as body man to the President of the United States. China had been the topic of the day since I arrived at the White House. The President barely remembered my name. I waited for my chance to help, but I was sent home early most nights. I sensed the President wasn't so sure he wanted a new body man. He treated Charlie like a son and was keen on him moving onto a higher paying upper level job. He clearly missed his former body man's company and having to adjust to a new person in his life at the moment was difficult. 

"Give him time Curtis. The President can be slow to warm up to new people. Don't get discouraged. He can't ignore you indefinitely." 

Really? At first I spent more time waiting in hallways and the outer office than with the man I was there to serve. 

*************** 

The China trip was fast approaching. I had never been out of the country. A few days before departure Mrs. Fiderer handed me a special passport explaining that I would be traveling with the President. She expected me to take good care of him since neither she nor Charlie would be making the trip. I had noticed that the President and Mrs. Fiderer have a sort of unique relationship. She acts as the gate keeper, showing a very protective fondness for her boss. Being close in age I think perhaps they have more things in common, but I later learned that Mrs. Fiderer possesses a quirky sense of humor that the President finds to be a welcome relief from the often serious nature of his job. 

Suddenly the President appeared in our office doorway. "Young man I want you to go home early tonight. We have a long flight ahead of us and I need you to be well rested. I also want you to call you parents." 

"My parents Sir?" 

"Yes, where do they live?" 

"Outside of Philadelphia Mr. President. That's where I grew up." 

"OK, well call them tonight and say goodbye. Tell them I'll take good care of you and have you home in time for Christmas." 

Before I could answer he had shut the door. I stood staring at the door. 

"He may learn your name by the end of the trip. But I wouldn't count on it." Mrs. Fiderer offered with a wink. 

*************** 

"Keep your eye on him and always be within shouting distance." Charlie had been quite emphatic about these instructions. Little did I know he meant literally within shouting distance. With intercoms, a pager and a cell phone I didn't think it were possible to be more connected. Once the President figured out what my name was I became very use to hearing it bellowed day or night. 

My sparse knowledge of MS had been filled out by a crash course with Charlie and the President's physician. I was educated to the subtle signs of fatigue, dizziness, blurring vision, muscle cramps or tremors of the hands, lack of concentration, irritability.............but they both emphasized that Jed Bartlet should be awarded an Emmy for his ability to cover all these symptoms, even from Mrs. Bartlet. 

My skill for picking up on the subtle signs of MS was not required........... "Curtis, we need to get the President back to his private quarters without waking the press corp. Bring the stretcher ASAP." The look on the faces of CJ., Toby, and Dr. Griffith said it all. Nothing subtle here......this was the real thing. My hands were sweating as I lifted the stretcher. The agent carrying the other end was facing the wrong direction. If he stumbled backwards every soul on board AF1 would be alerted to the President's condition, but I kept silent. No one spoke as we moved carefully and quietly down the narrow hallway. 

I could feel the fear rising up my spine. The hair on my neck was standing up......laying him softly down on the bed in his quarters I stepped back to give Dr. Griffith room."I'm ready for this." Did he just say "I'm ready for this?" But the attitude I was hearing was not one of resignation. It was one of defiance bordering on a challenge. He was challenging all those present in the room to throw down their doubt, their confusion and focus on what needed to be done. "This plane is going to China!" Now that sounded like anger. Even lying down his voice was strong and clear. There was no doubt or confusion about where AF1 was going to land. 

"Don't look so worried, young man. You're scaring me." He lay stretched out on the bed with his hands resting at either side. 

Standing immediately I came to his side. "Sir, is there anything I can do for you?" 

Even with the shadow my body cast across him where he lay on his bed I could see the warmth of his eyes. The IV tube was securely taped to the back of his right hand with the hope that the steady drip of steroids would bring this attack under control or at the least keep it from advancing even more. "Dr. Griffith stepped out for a moment. Shall I get her for you Sir?" 

"You know steroids are a catch-22. Millie tells me to sleep. Then she gets me all juiced up so my mind is reeling. Pull up your chair. I feel like the 'Friendly Giant' has moved in." 

I retrieved my chair setting it close enough so that he wouldn't have to turn his head much to see me. His shirt was spread open revealing an ample amount of graying chest hair. His vest and tie had been tossed hastily over the headboard. Dr. Griffith had loosened his belt and removed his shoes & socks. 

"Do you want a blanket Sir?" 

"Nah, I think I'm working on a fever. The less on the better I always say." He seemed completely comfortable with his bare chested appearance. For him this was just two guys having a conversation, except one of them was the President who at the moment was experiencing paralysis in all four limbs due to an MS relapse. Plus he was doing most of the talking. "Wait till my wife gets a hold of me......there'll be hell to pay then. She can be quite the spit fire.........must be that Irish ancestry. You know I try to hold my tongue and not add fuel to the fire, but God knows that never seems to work well for me." He chuckled as if having a private moment. "When it comes to my health Abbey can be a demon. My agents don't dare share a cigarette with me. I went to get one from my stash in the planter on the White House portico and you know what I found?" 

"I wouldn't know Sir." 

"Can I just say, I don't have many vices, but from time to time I need a smoke. Is that too much to ask?" He continued without expecting an answer. I had noticed a lot of our conversations are like that. "I dig under the mulch and come up with an empty pack with a note inside......... 

Gumdrop,  
If you are in need of a nicotine fix or oral   
gratification come up to the residence. I   
have just what you need.

~ Abigail~ 

I was such a sucker........I went up there and what did I find? My wife had gone out of town and on my pillow was a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and a box of nicotine patches. Women can be such an amazing frustration. Do you have a girl friend?" 

"Not at the moment Mr. President. I think it best to concentrate on one thing at a time. I want to do well at this job Sir." 

"And I have no doubt you will. When my wife shows up, I'll need you to vouch that I have been following Millie's instructions to the letter." He reached out and touched my knee with his left hand and smiled. I looked at his thick large hand on my knee. He glanced at his hand, his eyes narrowing. He moved his fingers in a drumming motion, tapping his finger tips against my kneecap."Well I'll be damned." With that he sat up and nodded towards the door. 

*************** 

She knelt in front of him her hands stroking his thighs. The President leaned down kissing her on the lips as we all turned away to give them some semblance of privacy. The tension in the room had been palpable while we waited for the Chinese to get their lift working and for the arrival of the First Lady. My time with Mrs. Bartlet had been very limited up to this point. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but from the way everyone had been acting I was more than a little concerned. She surprised me...........the air shifted in the cabin as she swept into the room. Her eyes were sharp..... searching. She barely acknowledged the others standing there as she made her way directly to the President, who sat impatiently to one side. The President continued to lean towards his wife, his left hand held to her cheek. They spoke to each other in hushed voices. From time to time I could hear the word "Jackass", to which the President would reply, "Abbey, look...." She then took both his hands in hers examining them, flexing his fingers and sighing. She then held his face affectionately in both hands and kissed him again, rubbing away her lipstick with a thumb. 

The debate swirled on. The lift might not be operational for some time. The secret service was on edge concerning the added risk of their President being a target in a wheel chair. There had been no chance to practice the new procedure for evacuation should there be a crisis situation. Charlie words whirled in my head, "Never leave his side. If the bullets start flying never leave his side. He is the only thing that matters in that instant. Stay focused." 

The President's level of irritation increased by the minute. He caught my eye and jerked his head. This was it......we were on the move. To hell with the lift. To hell with the debaters. I moved quickly, but carefully with my cargo. 

"You drop me, it's a moment that will follow you the rest of your life." 

Well that was an encouraging thought. His hands gripped my neck. I was having trouble getting my arm around his broad back, but I would let go under no circumstance. Could I be fired for escaping the plane with the President on foot? Would Ron chew me out at the end of the day? As I stepped out on the stairway of the plane agents rushed forward at the bottom as if expecting to see me and the President come rolling down head first. Unable to see my feet I placed them one at a times tapping my heel against the back of each step before shifting my weight down to the next. The President has a very solid build.....he is not a light man, but well within my lifting capabilities. Perspiration was accumulating on my forehead as we approached the last step. Two agents moved forward and between them took the President into their waiting arms. His wheel chair materialized in seconds. The President motioned for me to lean down next to him. "I owe you big time, Son. If Ron gives you a hard time, it's all on me." He winked, straightening his vest & tie. "Let's get this show rolling." 

*************** 

I wiped the lenses as clean as I could and handed the glasses back to him. He flipped them open with one hand and slid them onto his face with practiced ease. The print on th map spread over his lap was small, which mattered little since he had all the regions of the globe committed to memory..... names, square miles, political leaders, size of population and climates. I watched his face as he described the nature and consequences of a potential collision of a large asteroid with various parts of the earth. His voice never indicated any panic at the magnitude of destruction that might result from such a collision. He spoke in the calm soothing manner of a college professor, explaining the effects of an "Impact Winter." 

I couldn't take my eyes off his face while he taught me all I needed to know about asteroids, tsunamis, the Ozone and the containment of forest fires. What was it Charlie warned me about? "Sir, can anything be done?" 

"Evacuation is out of the question........who would we evacuate? I'm thinking luck may play a big part here. And of course prayer............are you a praying man, Curtis?" 

"I believe it can help. Yes, Sir." 

"May I ask what church you prefer?" 

"I'm an Episcopalian Mr. President. My Dad is a retired minister." 

"No kidding. Well that should do the trick." That said he reached out his left hand to me. Hesitantly I placed my right hand in his. I felt as though I was small child being comforted by a parent. The warmth of his fingers closing around mine spread up my arm. He had a strange calming glow about him. He closed his eyes bowing his head. His lips moved, but the words were spoken silently. For several minutes he continued to pray finishing with "Amen" and crossing himself. I could not have felt more connected to God if I had been kneeling at the altar of my father's church. 

*************** 

Standing in the hall way, Mrs. Bartlet's hand was gently touching my forearm. She was so tiny, coming up to about mid chest despite the three inch heels she was wearing. Her face was a blend of concern and determination. 

"Curtis, I can't emphasize enough how much I am depending on you to monitor the President's condition once the talks resume. I know it's difficult when he says, 'You're on my side' or 'Can we be men?' The consequences could be extremely grave if he goes beyond his limit. Watch out.......he can be an award winning actor when he wants to be. Don't let him fool you with that smile of his." 

"I'll do my best Ma'am." 

"I know you didn't sign on with us to do all this heavy lifting, but thank God you're here. Last night was a low point for him. I'm hoping after a good night's sleep he will be feeling better. He insists he wants to use the shower this morning before going down to begin the final session. Do you think you could help me with that?" Her eyes were pleading and hopeful. 

"No problem. Whatever he needs"..................... 

"Wasn't it nice of the Chinese to build us this large walk-in shower?" 

"Shut up Jed and hold on to Curtis." 

"Sir, I have a shower like this in my room too." 

"Really? Well, you'd think they'd add some grab bars in here. We should send Carlos and Ramon over to do some updates." 

"Carlos & Ramon, Sir?" 

"Yeah.......Abbey's boys......those guys really know their way around a shower." 

"Oh my God.....Jed. This is not the time for......" 

"I'm just saying.......if you want a little heat & spice in your shower." 

"I'll keep that in mind Mr. President." 

If I had to stand in a shower with the President wearing gym shorts then so be it. If he wanted to stand up to the toilet like a man with my support then so be it. If he could withstand the embarrassment and humiliation that derives from such a level of dependence on others then I wanted to be the guy that the man counted on. 

*************** 

I knew I was diving into the deep end of the ocean when the President jerked his thumb like a hitch hiker saying, "Follow President Lian." I didn't dare look at the First lady. We rolled along beside President Lian into a room half the size of the great hall where the American and Chinese delegations stood in stunned silence. The huge wooden doors closed behind us as we approached a small table where the two leaders settled across from each other. 

Seeing a chair near the two story window, I withdrew leaving the Presidents to continue their talks. President Bartlet leaned over the table supporting his upper body with his elbows on the table top. President Lian leaned in as well, intent to understand every word spoken slowly in English by this unyielding, senior statesman. While they exchanged ideas between them Charlie was speaking to me....... "Long trips at the last minute" I'm ready. "Be invisible in plain sight." Okay. "20 hour days aren't uncommon." I'll say. "Undeniable force in front of those who want more time than we are willing to give." Not so much. 

There was a lot of head tilting, periodically accented by hand gestures. I couldn't help, but notice President Bartlet's hands. Not only were they large and warm, but he had an endless assortment of gestures to communicate his many moods. His favorite being the thumbs up when he wanted to offer praise, encouragement or appreciation. For extra emphasis he would give the thumbs up and bring it to his heart, offering the recipient a smile that could carry a person for days. Oh what I would give to receive such praise and thanks. 

At the one hour mark the translators were called in. They wrote as fast as humanly possible in order to keep up with their Presidents, who now spoke in their native tongues at a very fast pace. The cups of tea and bottled water were left untouched as world altering decisions were reached and recorded. My pager began to vibrate at the 1 hour & ten minute mark. An emphatic message read: 

'I'm counting on you. He's killing himself.' 

I stepped cautiously up to the table, unscrewed the cap from a chilled bottle of water and held it out to President Bartlet. He stared at me for a moment, then nodded and took several long swallows. He hoisted himself up a little straighter in his chair and turned his attention back to President Lian. 

Firm handshakes were exchanged at the one hour & forty minute mark. Even President Bartlet couldn't save me from his wife's ire now. I spun that chair around and took him out of there at warp speed. It was congratulations all around until we reached AF1. At that point the adrenalin and false bravado collapsed. 

"Curtis.......!" 

"Yes, Ma'am." 

"Come on we're going to strip him down and get him onto the bed as quickly as we can." 

"Ma'am I am so sorry." 

Her eyes were amazingly intense, yet totally understanding. "I warned you about him. Why doesn't anyone believe me? He casts his spell over everyone." 

*************** 

"Joy cometh in the morning." I sure pray it does. This has been the flight from hell. Twenty hours of drama in the sky inside the world's most technically advanced passenger plane. MS is so unpredictable and specific to each individual patient. Sure there are some common denominators, but no doctor has the ability to be exact in the prognosis he gives for any one patient. After I lay the President's limp body on his bed, the speed with which Dr. Griffith, the Flight Surgeon and Mrs. Bartlet had him hooked up to IV fluids and steroids, was impressive. I retrieved cool water and a wash cloth. The President's damp clothes were strewn about the cabin. He lay sweating still in his boxers completely unaware of the commotion whirling around him. Once he was settled, Mrs. Bartlet took a seat on the bed next to her husband turning the light down low. Dr. Griffith and the Flight Surgeon retreated leaving me alone with the First Couple. 

"Curtis would you mind staying close by just in case he needs to be moved?" 

"Of course Ma'am. I'll sit right over here." I claimed the large padded desk chair at the other end of the cabin figuring I'd would be there for quite awhile. I had no intention of intruding into their privacy, but couldn't help watching the First Lady as she gently bathed the President. Starting with his forehead, she wiped away the perspiration from is face and then his neck. He did not react to the cool washcloth as she continued down over his arms and torso. With even strokes she wiped his legs before washing both his feet. Next came a dry towel. Repeating the process, she dried him off before pulling a cotton sheet up over his body. Removing her jacket and shoes, the First lady then lay down softly next to her husband placing a protective hand on his chest. 

This cabin was amazingly sound proof. God only knew what was going on out in the press cabin or with the staff. Seizing the chance for a cat nap I closed my eyes resting my head back against the ample head rest of the chair. "He's not just the President." If only Charlie would leave me alone for a few moments. But of course he was right on target with that thought. The man could barely remember my name half the time and yet I was privy to so many of his private moments. At times he used me as a sounding board for his thoughts........beliefs & ideas about policies affecting millions of people. Often he simply spoke out loud never expecting me to actually respond. An internal debate was constantly waging inside him...........pros & cons, inclusion or marginalization, personal desire vs. national good, duty or obligation.........it was an inspiring struggle to witness. So much of what this President stood for sprang from his deep faith. Having grown up in a house where God was often the number one priority, I could understand and admire the President's desire to do the right thing. Compassion for others always seemed to be his first reaction to any situation, but when called upon to act he could be both forceful and decisive. If ever there was a father figure in the Oval office Jed Bartlet was that man. 

*************** 

'Terrified' was the best way to describe how the staff felt. In the weeks following the President's return to the White House he had become a real danger to all those working in the West Wing. Ron had equipped him with a sturdy lightweight wheel chair for use indoors. Though the President was regaining strength in his legs, he still lacked the balance and stamina to walk unaided. All I could do was follow along as he whizzed about propelling himself through hallways, around corners from a bare floor to carpet sometimes running over toes, chipping molding or knocking files off of desk tops. Had the DC. Police had jurisdiction in the White House he surely would have received many citations for speeding and reckless driving. 

"Mr. President the physical therapist is waiting for you up in the residence." 

"Oh God, really? That guy is a sadist. He twists my legs in ways that are completely unnatural.." 

"Sir the more therapy you have the faster you will get back on your feet and the staff can get back to normal." 

"The staff? What does the staff have to do with this?" 

"Sir your driving has everyone on edge. No one dares step out of their office when you're in the West Wing. The volume of e-mail communication has quadrupled since your return from China." 

His eyes twinkled with delight. "It's good for them to stay alert. Abbey says my biceps and shoulders are much stronger." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And you know what that means." 

"Sir..........." 

The following week he was graduated to forearm crutches, much to the relief of everyone. It was a slow and challenging adjustment. Forearm crutches can be very tricky if not fitted and used properly. After repeated reminders to keep his elbows bent at a 30-60 degree angle and to plant the tip of the crutch at least 6" in front of each foot he soon got the hang of it. I could see him clenching his jaw with determination as he navigated around the Oval office. 

As I was leaving on that Friday night, Debbie handed me an envelop addressed to the "Friendly Giant." 

"What is this?" 

"I think you must have made an impression.........he has given you a nickname." 

"He has given me a nickname? He has enough trouble remembering my real name." 

"Go figure." She nodded with raised eyebrows. 

The invitation was handwritten on Presidential stationary: 

Curtis,  
Abbey and I would be delighted if you  
could join us for an informal dinner tomorrow night  
in the residence. Just dress clean & comfortable   
and bring your appetite at 7:00.  


~ JEB~ 

The agent at the top of the stairs pointed toward the kitchen. The lights were on and music floated out into the hall. Approaching the door I could see the kitchen table set for dinner with candles & flowers. Mrs. Bartlet stood at the counter with her back to the door. Her tunic top swayed as she moved her hips to the rhythm of the music. Humming softly, she sliced tomatoes into a salad. I knocked on the door frame to announce my presence and received a warm welcome in return. 

"Curtis I'm so glad you could make it. I have something special for you tonight." She gestured for me to come into the room. "Watch yourself Jed's in his chair tonight. He's giving his legs a rest." 

With that the President came flying into the kitchen doing practically a 360 parking himself at the head of the table. "Curtis my friend have a seat. Would you like a beer or wine?" 

"A beer would be great Sir." There was something so familiar about this. Here was the President in jeans and shirt sleeves sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bartlet handed me a cold Samuel Adams and put the salad on the table. "Thank you Ma'am." She sat sipping her wine. "This reminds me a lot of home. My parents always eat in the kitchen except on Christmas or Easter when we have extra family over. It's very kind of you both to invite me." 

"Don't mention it. We'd have done this sooner, but circumstances just got in the way. Plus your coming allowed me to request steak and mashed potatoes. So there is an added bonus to your company tonight." 

"Curtis, what do you like to do in your free time?" 

"Free time Ma'am?" I chuckled taking a long sip of my beer. 

"Abbey now don't start." 

"Jed you know this boy has been almost killing himself on your behalf since the first day he arrived. I'm just curious if he has a secret life outside the White House that we should know about." 

The sirloin was medium rare. The mashed potatoes were slathered with butter and topped with an ample amount salt & pepper. The salad was full of vegetables & garlic flavored croutons. The First Lady ate with a refined casual manner. The President, on the other hand, dug in at a pace suggesting he had been starving for weeks. The word was out about the macrobiotic diet. Clearly this change in his diet was not of his own choosing. It was fun to see the President obviously enjoying his food. He was relaxed with his sleeves rolled up, his hair lacking it's usual perfect appearance. Hand gestures were abundant as he told family stories and laughed about his driving skills. Mrs. Bartlet chided him when he boasted about drag racing on the portico with some children who had come to represent the Special Olympics team. 

The crowning moment of the evening was the presentation of the homemade blueberry pie. Mrs. Bartlet had actually made the crust from scratch that morning adding blueberries flown in from Maine. Steam rose from the slits in the top when she brought it from the oven and placed it on a trivet in front of me. We sat in silence for several minutes admiring her creation, reluctant to cut into it too soon, ruining the moment of anticipation. Bryers vanilla bean ice cream came forth as well. 

"We cannot have blueberry pie without ice cream. It's just not done. At least not in my house." The President grabbed the ice cream scoop ready to serve. 

Mrs. Bartlet handed me the knife. "Curtis, you do the honors." 

How does one describe the feeling of 'acceptance.' To be absorbed into a family that you previously observed only through the news media. To stand next to the man responsible for the welfare of the nation.......and far, far beyond. To share a deep faith with a man you admire more than you ever thought possible. To aid in the recovery of someone stricken with a serious debilitating disease. To witness a love affair between two mature people who have shared their lives for many years. I felt blessed. 

Before I stood to take my leave, Mrs. Bartlet leaned over and hugged me from behind. "Curtis, thanks you so much for all you have done for Jed and for me. I'm not sure where we'd be without you." 

President Bartlet wheeled himself along with me to the elevator door. Stepping in I turned to wave good bye. As the doors closed he offered me a wide smile, gesturing a thumbs up and bringing it to his heart. 

So it goes......el final 


End file.
